


Red Feathers and Whiskey

by SilverRaven33



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester as a Rooster, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Pov, Some angst, What other tags do you really need? lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRaven33/pseuds/SilverRaven33
Summary: Dean's been cursed into a rooster, and Sam and Cas are trying to get him turned back as quickly as possible. The awkwardness and hilarity that would ensue when Sam's brother and the love of Cas's life is a bird that needs looking after.Endgame Dean/Cas, Teen rating only for the swearing. Set about mid-season 12.Inspired by a random prompt and a pic of a chicken in a harness. Hope I did the idea justice.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 39
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

Sam couldn’t help an annoyed sigh as his ear echoed with the ringing of the unanswered call. Yeah, he bet Dean couldn’t come to the phone right now. Probably had some bartender half naked already. He’d said he was only going for a couple of drinks but Sam knew his brother far too well to not be able to translate that into “I doubt I’m coming back to our room tonight.” At least after as successful of a hunt as today’s had been. 

The Winchesters had just taken out a whole vamp nest in one afternoon, and yeah, sure, Sam conceded that Dean deserved to celebrate a little. But they were supposed to be heading back to the bunker early in the morning, to keep working on a way to get Mom back from the British Men of Letters. She said she was hunting with the bastards lately and that it was her choice, but her boys had their doubts. 

Sam set his phone on the nightstand and half collapsed into the motel bed. He was sore, and exhausted, and he’d wanted to get the car mostly packed up tonight but there went that idea. How did Dean even have energy for sex after ganking monsters since noon? They weren’t as young as they used to be anymore. Sam was sure his brother would roll up sometime in the morning, hungover but with that sparkle in his eye, still insisting on driving the full four hundred miles home and falling asleep when they got there. Or worse, he would run himself past the point of exhaustion and jump right back into the bigger mission. 

Whatever. The younger Winchester shook his head to himself and flipped off the light. Dean had saved his life at least twice today, and it had been awhile since he’d sown some oats, to be fair. After all these years, Sam knew he would forgive him so he didn’t know why he bothered getting upset. He stretched out as far as the bed would allow and closed his eyes, his body grateful for the comfort and promise of rest. 

Several hours later, Sam’s eyes blinked open slowly to the motel room filled with a soft light that meant with the curtains closed the sun was well up. He sniffed and flopped his head over, not wanting to move from his sprawled position on his stomach quite yet. He couldn’t wait to see what sorry shape his brother was in on the other bed though. 

There was no brother in the other bed. Dean’s duffel sat just where he’d left it in the center of the messy sheets last night before he’d gone out. Sam pushed himself up to peer at the floor, not letting himself worry yet. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean hadn’t been able to make it to the bed. Floor was clear. Eyes flicking to the digital clock, Sam’s heart sped up a touch. Nine thirty. This was pushing it, even for Dean. He was as concerned about Mom as Sam was. 

No missed calls. No sign that Dean had stopped in and gone back out for coffee. Sam was allowed to be annoyed now. Or worried. But he tried to choose annoyed as he dialed Dean’s cell again. This time straight to voicemail. So his phone had died while at some chick’s place or…

Sam swore, as he shoved his last pair of somewhat clean jeans on and tucked his pistol in the waistband, clipping his favorite knife to his belt for good measure. If Dean was still asleep wrapped around someone, Sam would give him hell. He opened the door to the motel room and ran a hand through his bed head hair. At least it was a nice day, the bar Dean said he was going to wasn’t all that far, and Sam had long legs.

There she was - the Impala, in desperate need of a bath, sitting in the middle of the parking lot of the Dog Days Saloon, alone except for a rusty blue pick up some spaces away. The aftermath of a small town bar and at least a couple of patrons that were smart enough to know not to drive home. So if Dean had left with a chick, they’d taken her car. Sam tried calling again as he drew closer to the Impala, not having much hope and finally beginning to be worried. He pocketed his phone as soon as Dean’s voicemail kicked in yet again and dug in one of the smaller compartments of his light jacket, for the copy of the keys to Baby that Dean either didn’t know he had, or pretended not to know. 

Nothing about the locked car or the dark and closed up bar suggested foul play to Sam, so he figured he’d drive back to the hotel room and try to track Dean’s phone. He smirked to himself as he thought of his brother coming back to the parking lot after he’d pulled away and having a heart attack that his baby wasn’t there. Would serve him right for taking so long. Fuck, Sam hoped this was as simple as that. 

It was a quiet morning even on this main county route, the spring sunshine smiling down. Sam couldn’t even remember the name of the town but it seemed like a nice place. Only a couple of cars wandered by as he unlocked and swung open the driver’s side door of the Impala. All of a sudden, a wild squawking sound tore into Sam’s ears, and in a cloud of Midwestern dust a blur of reddish brown fluttered up from underneath the car and right into the front seat. Sam wasn’t quick enough to stop the ball of...was that feathers?!...from clumsily flapping into the spot behind the steering wheel. He blinked twice, hard, and then could only stare. That. Was a chicken. Standing on the bench seat of the Impala, almost proudly.

It stood about two feet tall, and its sturdy bulk was a rather impressive presence in the confines of the car. Now that the bird was still, Sam could tell the feathers were a glossy mix of deep brown and auburn red mingled with some forest green that shimmered a bit in the morning sun. Towards its hind end, the feathers got darker and the tail was a plume of black and dark emerald green. As far as chickens went, it was rather nice looking. 

Sam wasn’t an expert by any means, but he was pretty sure the bright red...mohawk? Comb, that’s right, he corrected himself, and the dangling red fleshy beard type skin hanging under the dark golden beak, marked this as a rooster as opposed to a hen. It stood on two sturdy stalks of bright yellow scaly legs, each toe ending in what looked like potentially a cruel claw and on the rear of both legs, pointing backwards, were sharp spurs that Sam was positive could do some damage. This was not a meek barnyard chicken. This thing looked like it could go a few rounds with an opponent and win. 

The rooster’s deep golden eyes were almost intelligent as he looked around at the Impala’s interior, down at his own feet, over at Sam, and out of the windshield. The bird’s movements were sharp and quick, his thick comb bobbing a bit with each twist and turn of its head. 

Sam glanced around the quiet parking lot swiftly, looking for he wasn’t sure what. The rest of the flock? A chicken wrangler? A candid camera? There was just the rooster, the warm sun, and one more car going by on the road. Sam stared at the bird, who was being very still. The bird stared at Sam, or seemed to, the golden eyes bright and observant. Sam didn’t have a lot of experience with chickens, none really, when he did a quick inventory of his knowledge on them. Dogs had always been more of his thing, cats were also great. But this was beyond him. 

“Dude,” he found himself addressing the rooster. “I don’t know where you came from, but you gotta go back there. Dean is going to kill us both if he finds out there was a chicken in his car.” 

The feathered head jerked to the side on a tilt and the animal let out another short squawk that almost sounded like the word “jerk”. But that was impossible, and insane. Sam needed to get this thing out of Dean’s precious car before it shit on the leather seats or something. 

“C’mon, shoo,” he said, and waved a half hearted hand at it. Did chickens bite, and had it just rolled its eyes at him? It certainly didn’t seem to want to move from its spot, standing resolutely behind the steering wheel and staring straight ahead, as if he wanted to drive even though he couldn’t quite see over the steering wheel. Then it released another yell and began pecking at the steering wheel almost angrily. At this, Sam finally overcame some of his wariness and shoved, albeit gently, at the large bird, managing only to move it a couple feet further into the car. Well that hadn’t been his intent. 

Sam, thinking quickly, went around to the other side and unlocked and opened the passenger door. No animal should want to be trapped in a car, he reasoned, and maybe this would make the chicken realize it could get out and it would fly away. The bird stayed where it was and just looked at Sam, or seemed to, anyway, the stare almost shrewd. Could it be rabid? No, birds didn’t get rabies, Sam was pretty sure.

“C’mon, seriously.” Sam was at his wit’s end. He didn’t want to resort to violence against an innocent animal, but this was getting ridiculous. He needed to get rid of this chicken, and find out where his brother was. Maybe getting in the car would help. This bird didn’t know him, after all, it would probably shy away as he got closer and then he could sort of gently shove it out the other side.

Sam came back to the driver’s side and slid into the seat, watching the rooster as it clearly watched him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the thing was staring him down, trying to tell him something. Sam looked away from those sharp eyes, and turned the key in the ignition, thinking surely the impressive rumble of the Impala’s engine would scare the bird away. But it seemed to actually stand up straighter. Now it seemed to be analyzing the tape deck Dean insisted on keeping in there. It’s not like it was even original to the car, so Sam didn’t understand how it was so wrong to update to an iPod dock. 

“I know, he still listens to tapes,” he shared in an insufferable tone to the chicken, for no discernible reason other than he must be going crazy. Without warning, the bird bent its neck over enough to stab Sam in the leg with that vicious looking beak. 

“Hey!” Even through denim, that was enough to smart. Sam had had enough. He began pushing at the chicken, encouraging it to exit the car though the passenger door. It hopped over at every shove of Sam’s hand, sure enough, but it also released an angry squawk with each hop. Sam wondered if all chickens were this stubborn, and he saw that the bird’s clawed feet were almost at the edge of the car’s seat.

Then the rooster was reaching for the armrest of the passenger door with his beak, as if meant to eat the lining of the door on its way out of the car. At this point Sam wasn’t sure he cared; as long the chicken went on its merry way and let Sam go about his, he’d replace the whole car door. 

“Hey!” Sam yelled again, because now mini Foghorn was digging in the ashtray of the passenger side’s armrest, his head madly jerking back and forth as it seemed to be trying to grab at something. 

“Don’t mess with that!” he warned the bird, reaching out to swat at its cascade of feathers jutting up from its behind, but stopping just short of hitting the animal. It yelled at him again, Sam didn’t know if it could rightly be called crowing or what, but it definitely had the tone of a yell, before going back to peck at what he’d found. It raised its head, the dark red comb standing up proudly, and Sam saw that sure enough it had the head of the army man clenched as tightly as it could in the narrow yellow beak. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Sam said as he made to grab it out of the beak, not caring about the risk of another peck or bite. Maybe it was stupid or too sentimental, but that little green army man that he’d put in that ashtray when he was three years old was part of the soul of that car, part of Sam’s soul. He couldn’t let some wild chicken take off with it. 

But the bird still wasn’t leaving, it was just standing there with the old toy in its beak, having dodged Sam’s attempt at stealing it. Those golden eyes were staring at him again, peering at him too intently. Then the rooster took a couple of steps forward, back towards Sam, who was now just curiously watching what the thing did next. The bird leaned down towards Sam’s hand that had fallen to the seat in temporary defeat and, as gently and accurately as it was able to do, laid the army man in his palm. 

He then straightened back up and resumed his intense stare at the human. Sam’s eyes flicked down to the army man and then back up to the rooster’s face. He may not have known anything really about chickens, but he was pretty sure this could not be considered normal chicken behavior. There was something severely off about this, and his sixth hunter sense began kicking in. 

Suddenly the quiet of the moment was broken by the rooster screaming again, making Sam jump. It seemed angry, and almost like it knew Sam, and was acting awfully at home in the car, not to mention had purposely grabbed the army man that Sam now had his fist curled around as if it could ground him… 

No way. No way.

“Dean?” Sam tried, his eyes squinting in disbelief. No way. 

The rooster answered with a lower pitched yell that again sounded like it could be saying, “jerk” and pecked at Sam’s arm, more gently this time. 

“Dude are you serious?” was all Sam could think of in response. He had to pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes a moment. In their admittedly strange lives, Dean had been possessed by a demon, performed a spell that made him act like a dog, and other sundry oddities, but full transformation into another species was a new one.

Sam shook his head slightly and looked back over at the rooster, who was giving him the best version of an impatient scowl that a bird could manage. Yeah, this was Dean alright.

“Who did you piss off last night?” Sam asked incredulously, and received a squawk as an answer. Obviously direct communication with his brother was going to be very limited while Sam tried to figure out how to fix this. He needed some help, that much he already knew, and he hit Cas’s contact entry in his phone. 

“Now?” the angel’s deep voice queried after Sam asked him to meet him at the motel. “I’m in the middle of searching for a potion ingredient. I’m in Australia.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Sam told him. “I just need backup, man.” 

“Where’s Dean?” and the spike of concern in Cas’s tone had Sam scrambling to calm him down. 

“He’s safe,” he said quickly. “Mostly,” he added. “We both are. I just, need help figuring something out.” 

“Very well, I’ll be there shortly.” Sam hung up, reached around the rooster shaped Dean to close the passenger door and replace the army man safely in the ashtray, and put the Impala in gear. 

Cas was sitting in one of the lawn chairs on the sidewalk of the motel when Sam pulled up, his trench coat dusted with red from the Outback. The familiar crease in his brow deepened when he failed to see Dean sitting next to Sam, not to mention that Sam was driving. Cas watched the younger Winchester get out of the car, followed by this large red rooster, who hopped confidently down onto the ground and proceeded to strut, there was no other word for how he was walking, next to Sam as they made their way to the room’s door. In spite of his curiosity about Dean’s whereabouts, Cas couldn’t help a small smile. He didn’t get to spend enough time around animals, and they were all so fascinating. 

“Well, aren’t you a handsome fellow?” Cas greeted the chicken warmly. Did the bird just stand up even taller than he had been? 

“Cas...” Sam started slowly, not sure how to announce this, “Cas, that’s - that’s Dean.” The angel’s eyes squinted much as Sam’s had as he looked back down at the rooster. 

“Dean?” Cas asked it, and the rooster gave a squawk that was becoming familiar to Sam, and walked around in a tight circle as if to say, yeah, this is me. He fixed Cas in his golden stare and blinked once at him. The angel had stood up as the man and the rooster had approached, and now he had to sit back down. 

“Yeah I know,” Sam agreed with Cas’s silent amazement, and went to enter the motel room. Dean of course followed him right in, Cas on those spurred heels. 

  
  


Dean had settled his feathered body on the bed next to his duffel bag of weapons, seemingly trying to get as close as he could to his normal persona. Sam and Cas were arguing.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that might work,” Sam reasoned. “He was in the parking lot this morning. I don’t know where he was last night, it’s not like there’s a hex bag we can even attempt to find. And I think this might be beyond hex bag kind of magic.” 

“Rowena cannot be trusted, you know this,” Cas rebutted.

“Of course she can’t,” Sam agreed, “But she has the skills to reverse this. I hope. We’ll just have to owe her one.” 

“Oh and that’s a good idea, to owe a favor to a Grand Coven priestess,” Cas shot, having picked up the art of sarcasm from the Winchesters over the years. 

“I don’t know what choice we have,” Sam said, looking at his brother the chicken. “We can’t leave him like this. I guess we could see if it just wears off with time.” At this, Dean lifted himself onto his strong stick legs and strutted over to Cas, who was sitting on the corner of his bed. 

“Bawk,” he uttered firmly, and stared at the angel for a moment with his head on a tilt, his feathered neck at a sharp angle. Then he turned to Sam and gave the best approximation of a nod that a rooster could, red comb and wattles shaking with the motion. 

“I think he’s telling us to go ahead with this plan,” Sam said cautiously, and Cas sighed in defeat. The world did need Dean Winchester to be human again as soon as possible. The problem was that damn witch could be anywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ohh myyy,” Rowena’s voice lilted over the phone. “A chicken, you say? That is some complicated magic.”

“We kind of knew that already,” Sam said, trying to keep his tone level. They needed Rowena, and he hated it, but he had to be nice to her. 

“But we figured, if anybody could reverse something like that, it would be you,” he said, not above a touch of flattery. 

“Mmm, I should be able to, yes,” Rowena answered thoughtfully, and Sam silently cheered. Very silently, since he knew there would be a price. 

“You’ll have to come to me I’m afraid, so we can discuss terms. I’m near Las Vegas, I’ll text you the address,” she told him, her brogue sounding viciously sweet as only she could. 

Sam needed sustenance before they got too far, even if Cas didn’t, so he pulled up to what appeared to be the only fast food joint around. He ordered a chicken wrap before he thought about it; it was the only somewhat healthy thing on the menu. Dean began pecking at his arm where he sat next to him in the front seat, Cas on his other side. These weren’t angry pokes meant to hurt, though.

“I think he’s hungry too,” Cas observed.

“Dean, chickens are supposed to eat grit. And bugs. And veggies,” Sam told him, not without a teasing grin. He’d done some quick Googling before they’d left the motel, learning that Dean seemed to have been turned into a breed of chicken called a Rhode Island Red. He now rolled the car up to the drive through window.

“Oh, isn’t that just the cutest thing?” the girl at the window exclaimed, looking past Sam to the chicken in the car. 

“Maddie, look, these guys have a pet rooster!” she shared with her coworker, who was handing off the bag containing Sam’s order to her. Sam gave her an impatient smile and tried not to wince as Dean’s beak nearly pierced his bicep through two shirts. 

“Can I get a quick burger added to this?” he asked the ladies. Though there was a part of Sam that would love to make his brother eat a regular chicken diet in this form, he knew Dean might kill him for it when he got changed back. 

“You got it sweetie,” Maddie said, and returned a few moments later with another bag. 

“On the house cause your cock’s so cute,” she said with a cheeky wink. Sam forced a strained smile and drove off to escape the awkwardness. Cas had snorted a laugh, the bad line even amusing him, and Dean was madly pecking at the bag containing the burger that was in Sam’s lap. 

“Hey watch where that beak is going!” Sam said, which is something he’d never thought he’d have to tell his brother. Dean managed to get the bag dragged over to the seat, slowly making a hole in the paper but then it slid onto the floor of the car. 

“Cas, can you…” Sam began, having to pay more attention to the road now that they were going to be getting onto the thruway. He didn’t want to lose time by stopping to eat and he was just planning on shoving his own food in his mouth as he drove. 

“I’ve got it,” Cas said, and retrieved the bag from the floor and proceeded to unwrap the burger and hold it so that Dean could take beak sized bites of the meat and bun alternatively. His right foot pawed at the seat where he stood, as if wishing he didn’t have to be helped like this. But wings and chicken feet just weren’t quite made for holding a burger.

Sam rubbed at his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon. Even with the pit stop a bit ago for gas, he was getting tired, and it was still about six hours to Vegas. He was going to have to stop and rest.

“Sam, would you like me to drive for a while?” Cas offered. “I won’t tire, and you need rest.” Dean was sitting between them still, legs folded under his body and having been surprisingly quiet for most of the driving all day. 

“That’d be great Cas, if you’re sure,” Sam said thankfully. This way they needn’t lose time. After pulling the Impala to the shoulder of the road, Sam clambered into the back seat while Cas slid over into the driver’s side. To do this, he unceremoniously grasped Dean around the middle of his round body and lifted him to the spot that Cas had just vacated. This resulted in an angry squawking, a strong flapping of wings, and fierce glaring at his friend and his brother, who was getting as comfortable as he could in the back seat. Sam had to release a laugh at the sight of the rooster head peering over the top of the seat at him, the golden eyes clearly affronted. 

“Shut up, Dean,” he told him affectionately. “You can’t exactly drive and this makes sense.” He knew Dean must be going bat shit crazy not being able to drive his baby right now, and he considered it a certain amount of poetic justice for all the times, more so when they were younger, that Dean wouldn’t let him drive. He closed his eyes to attempt to nap, leaving his brother to harass Cas the best he could.

The steering wheel felt good under the angel’s careful hands. He’d driven his Continental of course, and that truck he’d had for awhile, but driving the precious Impala was new to him. Even with the angry rooster that owned it staring him down as he pulled away, Cas was going to enjoy this experience as much as he could. 

“Dean, if you can’t trust me to drive your car by now,” he said softly into the dimming light, “I’m sorry but...get over it.” Chickens shouldn’t be able to huff, but Dean did, and he sat back down in the center of the seat, since it’s not like there was anything else he could do. Cas glanced down at his favorite human, er, well, usually human, and gave a small smile. Dean was impossible at the best of times but Cas loved him anyway. 

Dean seemed determined to watch Cas every second that the angel drove but soon his head, the comb drooping, began lowering, his neck folding it in towards his body. As the miles went on, Cas could swear he heard a slight snoring sound coming from Dean and the rooster’s head had slipped from his wing onto the edge of Cas’s leg. The angel resisted the urge to reach down and run a finger along the soft looking feathers. Dean was always adamant about his personal space and Cas knew if he wasn’t a bird that biologically wasn’t made for staying awake all night right now, he would not be allowing himself this lapse. 

Cas’s heart squeezed all the same. If being close to Dean could only happen when he was another species, he would settle for that. He’d been accepting what the hunter could give for years now, and since Cas wasn’t the type that expected anything in return for his devotion, the situation worked. If he was human himself, he’d be hurt perhaps or bitter that his attentions weren’t being returned, and in his quietest moments when he was aware of an ache in his empty arms he wondered if he was truly as accepting as he told himself he was. But there was nothing for it; you couldn’t persuade Dean Winchester, or anyone for that matter, to feel anything they didn’t, so Castiel loved him anyway, in the simple and steady way that he couldn’t help. 

Certainly Dean had warmed up to him since that first year or even two. He’d lately begun calling Cas family and the angel knew there was no higher praise from the man than that. He was a needed and, in the boys’ own way, loved part of their lives. Hence why he was the one Sam had called about this. He was thankful to have that trust, that bond with both of them. 

But he’d always felt...just  _ more _ for Dean. He had been on Earth now long enough to realize what those feelings meant, even if there wasn’t anything he could do about them. So he told himself that since he was an angel, among other things, that type of relationship with a human wasn’t for him to experience. He would be here, loving and protecting Dean no matter what regardless. Cas drove the Impala as the night deepened, listening to the sleepy breathing of his two favorite people, content to be able to do what he could to help them. 

The Impala rolled over the Nevada state line with the sky lightening towards watery blue in the rear window, the promise of a new day and an incoming desert sunrise. Dean, who hadn’t moved all night any more than Cas had as the angel had steadily and unerringly driven west, now stirred and blinked his eyes open. 

“Morning Dean,” Cas said softly, missing the slight weight of the chicken head against him, as silly as that was. Dean glanced a golden eye up sharply at him, and Cas could only wonder what was going through that brain, but that was a pretty normal habit of the angel’s, no matter what form Dean was in. The rooster stood up, stretching, and went to look out of the passenger side window at the landscape rolling by. He dipped and then lifted his head, his back lengthening. 

And Dean crowed, an explosion of noise in the interior of the car. 

“Jesus Christ!” Sam sat straight up in the backseat, his heart hammering and nearly hitting his head on the top of the car. He’d been decently asleep still, Cas’s driving smoother than Dean’s was sometimes, but now he was rudely and abruptly awake, his ears ringing. Dean let another hearty crow loose, not paying any attention to his car mates, almost as if he couldn’t help doing what roosters do. They had to get him back to normal, fast. 

Cas was chuckling to himself as Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. 

“I guess we’ve finally found what it takes to make him an early riser,” the angel quipped. This earned a dirty look shot his way from those small golden eyes before Dean tipped his head back and crowed once more. 

Sam needed a restroom and a stretch before they got to Vegas, so Cas found a small town, a dot on a map, not unlike the one they’d left back in Arkansas, some way off the thruway. As soon as the car door was opened, Dean darted out after Cas, apparently eager to stretch his legs and wings too. He strutted in a circle around the Impala, fluffing his feathers out, while Sam went into the tiny corner general store. 

It was a desolate place; there was a large white house set back from the road across the street, the store, which only had parking for about three cars, and a couple of smaller houses just barely within sight a bit further down from the store. Cas leaned against the Impala, watching Dean strut and waiting patiently for Sam to return. He truly didn’t like that they were going to have to agree to anything Rowena asked in order to fix Dean, and he could only hope that she hadn’t gotten herself into any messes bad enough to put his friends in true danger. 

“Okay,” Sam said, walking up with a shopping bag and a cardboard tray with two coffee cups in it, “I got Dean coffee too,” he explained. “Just didn’t seem right somehow to not. And Dean, I even got you pie,” he told his brother. Dean had better appreciate this, and show it, when he could talk again. But when Sam and Cas looked over and down at Dean, they saw the rooster wasn’t listening to them. He was standing stock still, head pointed towards the white house, comb bright red and standing at attention once more. As the human and the angel turned to look to see what might have Dean so entranced, the rooster shot forward, running directly for the road. 

“DEAN!!” Sam and Cas yelled at the same time, the bag and coffees hastily dropped onto the hood of the Impala and the two heading towards the road without a second thought. The semi truck barreling down the road out of the corner of Sam’s eye gave his heart a lurch. Who knew chickens could run so fast? They watched him get across the road in time before the truck flashed by at ninety miles an hour, and Sam swore he was going to ring that rooster’s neck. 

As Sam and Cas jogged across the asphalt together, they now saw what Dean had been so enamored of that he risked becoming a road kill chicken pattie. The yard of the white house was dotted with placid hens, clucking sweetly to each other and pecking in the grass in the mid morning sun. They were pretty birds, white feathers speckled all over with black. Or at least they had been placid until Dean came careening wildly into their midst, squawking out an excited scream and making them scatter. 

“Dean…” Sam and Cas groaned now, both impatient with Dean’s errant hormones, though perhaps for slightly different reasons at times. Two hens had stuck together and dashed around the corner of a small barn, Dean hot on their heels, as Sam and Cas walked up the driveway, discussing their plans for cornering their damn chicken and dragging him back to the car. They had just separated to each go around the barn and try to sneak up on Dean when an angry scream rose in the air and out of the corner of Cas’s eye he saw the yard’s resident rooster closing in on the intruder quickly. 

Even Cas, now at the back corner of the barn, wasn’t quick enough to stop this beast from descending on Dean. The human-turned-rooster pecked back valiantly at first but when the home rooster began fluttering up and trying to stomp on Dean’s neck with his own murderous spurs flashing towards his face, Sam and Cas knew they needed to step in. Dean might know how to fight extremely well as a human but he hadn’t learned how to as a chicken. 

Sam lunged for the strange rooster, which easily side stepped him, but it gave Dean a chance to get his feet under him again and run, right towards Cas, almost colliding with the angel’s legs. He unashamedly darted behind his friend as the resident bird seemed wary of attacking again with two people in their midst now. He crowed once, long and loud, as if to tell Dean whose hens these really were. 

“What in tarnation is going on out here?” came a twang just before the slam of a screen door. A sturdy blond woman, perhaps in her early forties, was stalking towards the strange group. Her face was stern but still held the hint of a smile. Sam stood up straight, realizing they were trespassing on this lady’s land, and tried a smile of his own. 

“Sorry, we, uh...our pet - rooster - got out on us when we stopped across the street,” Sam explained, doing his best not to sound crazy. Cas reached down and scooped Dean up in his strong hands, his grip not harsh but also making it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Under the circumstances, Dean seemed to understand and relaxed in Cas’s arms.

“We didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Sam apologized. The woman was peering between Sam, rumpled in his clothes from sleeping in the car, and Cas, standing in her yard in a trench coat and holding a rooster that the tall one was claiming was their pet. Well, she was an eccentric enough of a person herself, she supposed. 

“Hi, I’m Tracy,” she introduced herself, and stuck out her hand for the two men to shake. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sam and this is Castiel.” 

“And this is Dean,” Cas told her, lifting the rooster tucked under his arm a bit. Tracy eyed Dean up appraisingly. 

“That’s a mighty fine looking specimen of a rooster you got yourselves there,” she proclaimed, and Sam refrained from rolling his eyes. “Now I know you didn’t get him down at Markie’s store. He never stocks that breed.” 

“No,” Sam said, “We’re not from around here. We’re just passing through. Dean here just got a little...excited when he saw your chickens and he’s a headstrong fella.” He ignored the stare he was receiving from the fella in question. 

“Ah yeah, roosters are their own little devils,” Tracy shared. “Dean seems to be relatively tame though, especially for a Red.” She nodded at the way he was allowing himself to be held in Cas’s arms without so much as a wiggle. 

“We’ve had him for awhile,” Cas said. 

“Well you wouldn’t have had him much longer today if Hercules here had been able to have his way,” she returned, glancing down at the rooster that was still stalking around his territory behind her, unwilling to let the interloper out of his sight.

“Chickens are just the best, aren’t they?” Tracy said then, her affectionate gaze broadening to include the rest of the flock. Neither Sam nor Cas had a good answer to this, but luckily one didn’t seem to be needed. 

“Why don’t you boys come and have some lemonade?” she asked then, her eyes now deepening as she looked back at Cas, and Sam was pretty sure it wasn’t just because of the apparently nice looking rooster he was holding. 

He opened his mouth to begin to politely decline, they really had to be on their way, but then Tracy added, “I may have something that’ll help you keep that Dean of yours a little safer.” Sam reluctantly agreed; he had a hard time being rude and they had trespassed after all; the clearly independent woman could have just shot them instead of serving them lemonade.

He almost spit out his drink when she returned to the screened in porch where they were sitting with a piece of fabric with straps and a leash  and announced it was a chicken harness. That was a thing? Sam did his best to act curious rather than shocked while Cas looked at the harness resting in Tracy’s hands. 

“I used to have house chickens myself, and this is left over from Belinda,” she told them fondly.

“House chickens?” Sam asked, never having heard this particular term. 

“Sure,” Tracy returned brightly, “I don’t eat my girls, they give me eggs and they go when it’s their time and not a day sooner. Before I got this nice big place with a yard, I used to keep a few in the house I lived in before, in the suburbs,” and at this word she made a face as if she’d bitten into something sour. 

“You do obviously keep Dean in the house, right?” she asked. 

“Of course,” Cas answered, as Sam appeared struck speechless by now. 

Tracy nodded in approval and continued, “Belinda was the one that used to like to go for walks, so I got her this harness. Used to embarrass my husband something fierce,” and she gave a small laugh. “My weird ways just weren’t for him, as we found out, but that’s another story.” And her eyes roamed over Cas’s face once more, not that the angel noticed since he was studying the harness, now inspecting the straps in his own rough fingers. The intent was that Dean would wear this?

“Sorry it’s pink,” Tracy perhaps misinterpreted Cas’s scowl. “But the bow tie should make up for that. I wanted Belinda to feel special, you know.” Sam was able to manage a nod while he hid a smirk behind a sip of lemonade. The thought of his brother being made to wear this ridiculous looking thing tickled the crap out of Sam, and honestly, if there was a chance he was going to run off, not able to help himself, maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. 

“How are we supposed to get it on him?” Sam asked. He glanced over to where Dean was standing in the corner of the porch, facing away from them, surely angry at this whole predicament, but hey, he’d done it to himself. 

“Hey Blue Eyes,” Tracy addressed Cas, “He must like it when you hold him, why don’t you grab him and I’ll show you?” Cas’s admittedly very blue eyes flicked up to Sam’s in a silent question, to which Sam nodded. Cas wasn’t sure how he felt about restraining Dean in this way, but it was imperative that the man and rooster be kept safe. So the angel moved towards the bird in the corner, who turned back and gave him the dirtiest look a chicken was capable of, which was no less than Cas had been expecting. Dean released one of his angry squawks, sounding very much like he was swearing, and his body began to bristle in a sort of dance that made it clear he was going to flutter away as Cas got closer. 

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was low and stern and he didn’t look away from the harsh golden glare. It wasn’t the first time they’d stared each other down over a disagreement, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

“This is for your own good,” Cas told him, a sentence that he knew he would never be able to say to a human Dean. “We need you safe. I need you safe.” Cas was pretty sure a chicken couldn’t roll its eyes, but he was also pretty sure Dean just had. But he allowed Cas to grip him around his wings once more and lift him, to be able to tuck him in the crook of his arm and return to the table where Sam and Tracy had been watching them.

“Yup, you definitely have a way with him,” Tracy said appreciatively. Then she picked up the harness, and while Dean must have been able to gather enough patience to allow Cas to pick him up again, now that he saw the contraption they meant to put on him, it was a different story. He began struggling under Cas’s arm, not that it did much good in the angel’s firm hold, his head jerking back and forth. 

“Oh sweetie, it’s okay,” Tracy’s voice attempted to soothe. “Here, let me show you a trick.” And she gently brought her hand up to cup Dean’s flailing face, which must have startled him enough since he stop moving for a second. Then she stroked the index finger of her other hand from the bottom of Dean’s comb to the tip of his beak, then she did it again, and again.

“That’s it darlin’,” and now her voice was soft, her touch obviously soothing since Dean had calmed down, his muscles relaxing against Cas’s arm and ribs. She now scratched lightly underneath his comb, behind his ears, and Dean seemed to look back at her adoringly. Cas had to tell the ridiculous flare of jealousy that this brought to his gut to shut the hell up, while meanwhile Sam was biting the inside of his cheek to avoid the laughter that wanted to spill out. 

Tracy, no doubt using the excuse to brush up against Cas as often as she could, expertly slipped the thing over Dean’s head, giving him extra pets to soothe him when this seemed to bring him out of his calm trance for a moment, then tucking the harness under his breastbone and around his wings, fastening the plastic clip at the back of them. He would still have full movement of his wings but it seemed secure. It was really quite a clever design. Then she clipped the  pièce de résistance on, the six or maybe eight foot lead. 

Her skilled hands went back to Dean’s head and she rubbed her fingers in circles just underneath and behind his ears to keep him calm for a bit longer now that he’d be able to feel this restriction around his body.

“See, they like being scratched right here,” she drove the point home in a soft tone as she stared into Cas’s eyes, looking very much like she’d rather be scratching behind Cas’s ears. Sam threw himself into a short coughing fit to save his friend from too much awkwardness. 

“Wow, that um, that really is something,” he said, not able to think of much else. As Cas set Dean back down on the floor of the porch by his feet, a ripple of true pity went through Sam for his brother’s sake. 

Not only was he spending his second day as a chicken who couldn’t really communicate with them, couldn’t help the instinct to wake up before dawn and crow, and had to depend on Sam and Cas for everything, now he was wearing a pink harness with a bow tie at his neck. But if they couldn’t trust his rooster instincts while just letting him out of the car for a stretch, this is what they had to do. 

Tracy lingered over pressing the handle of the leash into Cas’s palm, predictably. Cas rewarded her with one of his warm smiles and thanked her for the lemonade and the harness, but said they really must be going. And when Dean made no motion to deign to being walked like a dog in his new harness, Cas settled that by threatening to carry him. 

With an annoyed cluck, Dean began trotting alongside Sam and Cas back to the car, the angel trying to ignore his irrational disappointment at not getting to hold the rooster again. He did, however, hold Dean’s pie for him while he made a mess of his beak eating it, as Sam drove the remaining hour to the outskirts of Vegas. And Cas couldn’t remotely be upset when Dean wiped his sticky beak off on the arm of his trench coat, though it was clearly being done in retribution. 


	3. Chapter 3

Rowena could not stop giggling when they met her at the edge of the parking lot of the casino that she claimed to now own. She was dressed in one of her usual showy, form fitting dresses, black and green velvet, at odds with the midday Nevada heat. Cold hearted bitch was probably never warm enough, Sam thought uncharitably. 

Rowena’s eyes sparkled with glee as she watched Dean hop out of the Impala and strut as stiffly as he could while being led on a leash by Cas. The angel scowled at the witch, no semblance of pleasantries between them, but he did keep silent and let Sam talk, knowing they needed her. 

“Is Dean being a little more cocky than usual?” Rowena said by way of a greeting, openly smirking, obviously enjoying this immensely. Sam had to admit, very much to himself, that that was a good line, but he kept his expression neutral. 

“You can fix him?” he asked. 

“Aye,” she told him, “I’ll need something from his person from when he was, well, a person, you’ll have to get me some grated _Alsinidendron_ leaves, I’m fresh out. And of course, one teensy little favor,” she summed up, shrewd gaze centered on Sam. The hunter merely raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest. 

"I need to settle something with a demon, and you have a little more rapport with them than I do,” Rowena told him, with a sideways glance at the impressive building they were in the parking lot of. Sam sighed. He’d known this wasn’t going to be good. 

  
  


Cas didn’t like leaving Sam alone to go bargain with a crossroads demon, but the hunter assured him he would be fine, and there was Dean to think about. He certainly couldn’t come with Sam in his current form, so the task of babysitting fell to Cas, not that either of the guys called it that out loud. Dean was clearly mad enough as it was, straining at the leash as Sam and Cas took their leave of each other.

“Be careful,” the angel told Sam, who nodded briskly, seemingly not concerned with having to corner the demon who was trying to take Rowena’s new casino away. There was surely no way she’d gotten it by honest means and Sam was going to bat for her, knowing the deal itself was probably on the up and up, as far as demon deals go. But there was no help for it.

“I’ll be fine,” Sam said again. “Keep Dean safe. If those British bastards find out about this...” 

“Of course,” Cas told him, and Sam had no qualms about leaving his brother with him. The angel already protected Dean like it was his job; no, more than that: like it was his mission in life, and Sam sometimes believed it had become just that. 

The younger Winchester climbed back into the Impala and departed, leaving the angel and the rooster standing there watching him go. Cas didn’t miss the way some of the light left Dean’s round eyes and the way his comb had deflated a little. He bent down and tenderly scooped the chicken into his arms once more. 

“C’mon, Dean, let’s go home,” Cas said, and teleported himself and the rooster into the map room of the bunker. The Winchester’s base had become something of a home to Castiel as well, even if he didn’t spend as much time there as the guys. But the brick walls, the polished wood, the smell of hundreds of old books and parchment were familiar and welcoming to Cas, and he hoped they were to Dean as well, especially now. 

He set the rooster down on the floor, letting Dean get his legs under him, realizing maybe he’d been holding him for a touch longer than he’d strictly had to. He unclipped the leash from the harness, and considered taking the whole thing off of him, but if he should need to leave with him again, he didn’t think he’d be able to get it back on Dean by himself. So on the pink thing stayed, but Dean seemed unconcerned with the encumbrance now. 

Cas wandered over to the side of the library where Dean kept his liquor, watching the rooster out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure why he poured himself a glass of whiskey, one glass wouldn’t do anything to alter his mood, it took a copious amount of alcohol to get an angel drunk. Perhaps it was a way to feel closer to the human Dean, since he couldn’t have a conversation with him right now, and could only watch as the rooster sullenly began pacing the landing of the stairs, all hints of a strut gone. 

“I know,” Cas agreed, “I’m worried about him too. But he’s strong, and smart, Dean.” He took a sip of the pungent amber liquid, not finding the taste pleasant at all. He still took a second sip as he returned to the map room and lowered his own body to the floor, using the leg of the table as a back rest.

Poor Dean stared up the steps for a moment, as if this could make the bunker door open up to reveal Sam returning safely already, then his head drooped down, the comb all but completely flopped over to one side. Cas could only stare at him in sympathy, his own heart breaking a little for how heartbroken Dean looked. Usually nothing would keep Dean from rushing after his brother in a mad attempt to save him or keep him safe, and now he was powerless. Cas’s mind flashed back to when he was suddenly a human himself, no wings or grace, and he thought he might understand an inkling of what Dean was feeling.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” the angel said softly, his eyes roaming over the deep red feathers as the rooster stalked slowly away from the staircase, the picture of dejection. Cas took another stinging sip of whiskey and appreciated the quiet of the bunker, broken only by the soft scrape of Dean’s claws on the hard floor. The rooster was drawing closer to Cas, to Cas’s glass, and then he’d lowered his beak into the liquor itself. 

Cas merely watched for a second in disbelief but then realized he shouldn’t be surprised. This was Dean after all.

“I don’t think alcohol is good for chickens,” he told him, pulling the glass away a little but Dean followed it, his beak messily scooping up whiskey and dripping it on Cas’s trouser leg. The angel sighed. 

“For that matter, it’s not good for humans, either. And you know I wish you didn’t drink so much.” This earned him a sharp sideways glance from the rooster, and Cas wasn’t sure what had caused him to say this. It was surely true, but he’d never had the nerve to say it to Dean before, he usually kept it to a remonstrating look when the human was starting to drink too much. He knew Dean wouldn’t listen to him even if he did say something. But now he had to listen, now Cas some control. He pulled the glass fully out of the chicken’s reach and twisted his arm around to push it up on the table. Only to have Dean give him a dirty stare and appear to begin measuring up the table height to see if he could fly or jump that high.

“Oh stop it,” Cas said, his tone exasperated but still gentle. Then he thought, why not, what was the worst Dean could do right now, peck him to death? And he reached up his hand, finger outstretched, to stroke once at the bottom of Dean’s comb along the top of his beak, as Tracy had done. Dean’s first reaction was to pull his head sharply back, and Cas braced himself for the pointy end of that beak to stab at the skin of his hand. Maybe he deserved it - that had been bold, something he’d never do to a human Dean. Though perhaps he’d like to, and he tried to shove that thought away. 

Dean was piercing him with his golden eyes instead of his beak, and Cas stared back as steadily as ever. He did miss the deep, mercurial green of his favorite person’s eyes. All of this had happened in the space of seconds, and Cas’s hand was still suspended in front of Dean’s face. Cas also noted that he had not stepped away even though he easily could have done so. Now Dean leaned forward again, but slowly, not to bite or peck. Cas hoped he was taking the silent meaning correctly, and stroked once more. 

The tiny, almost hair-like feathers on Dean’s not-really-forehead were somehow smooth and rough at the same time, like running one’s finger against the grain of peach fuzz. The rooster’s eyelids fell closed partway, and Cas took that to mean that Dean was enjoying the, well, petting. This warmed Cas’s heart considerably, and after a few moments, he dared to explore the texture of Dean’s comb with his fingertips. It was so warm, the skin smooth and soft, and under Cas’s gentle touch, it was not drooping quite as much as it had been. 

The feathers alongside Dean’s narrow head were next, and by now Cas’s lips had the ghost of a smile as he felt how silky they were. He liked Dean as a chicken, he decided. He loved him as a human, of course, but avian Dean was letting him touch him. Cas was very aware it was not remotely the same thing as what he’d not been able to help, just sometimes, fantasizing about doing to Dean in the dark, but it still brought him a quiet joy to be able to show his affection for Dean in this way, while the hunter badly needed comfort. 

Cas stroked under Dean’s beak now, almost absently, the rooster lifting his head so he could do so, and the angel wondered if Dean would remember this when he was turned back. How he’d allowed Cas’s fingers to soothe him, how he’d stared at him with those bright eyes softening. The angel wasn’t sure if he wanted Dean to remember or not; perhaps it would be easier if he didn’t. He knew his friend extremely well by now, and he could imagine the embarrassment and awkwardness that might be the result of such memories. 

Dean was prickly, fiercely independent, and didn’t know how to accept love. As many demons as he’d fought and won against, the worst ones were in his own mind, Cas had long ago learned that. Maybe, as a chicken, with a bird’s simpler consciousness, he was currently able to escape some of them, and while Cas was happy for him if that was the case, it also made him wonder if that meant this was not all the way Dean. 

This thought slowed and then stopped his fingers where they’d worked their way onto Dean’s feathered neck. The hunter turned rooster had not only not stepped away, it almost sounded as if he was emitting a purr of enjoyment while his eyes blinked slowly at the angel. But on the chance Dean was not fully in his own mind right now, and Cas had no idea if it was possible that he was, he couldn’t pretend that the real Dean would be as consenting as this chicken was to being petted. Oh he could wish he was...he often had...but if it had not happened by now in all their human years of knowing each other, no matter how many looks they’d shared, Cas had to respect that.

The angel lifted himself to his feet, determined to put these thoughts away. No good came of them. He’d seen people wasting away by pining over others, and though Dean was able to make him weak in many ways, he had to stay strong, so he could continue to protect the Winchesters, and help them in turn protect the world. 

“Are you hungry, Dean?” he asked the chicken, refusing to fully notice how Dean looked disappointed that Cas had stopped and gotten up. He could appreciate that it seemed as if he’d lifted Dean somewhat out of his morose mood over Sam being gone, at least for the moment. Especially as the rooster perked up at the mention of food and trotted into the kitchen, his claws clicking on the old tile. 

Cas pieced together a sandwich for him, between his limited skill and what the guys had left in the way of groceries. He found a bowl to place it in, pouring water into another bowl. He’d decided it was best if he put some distance between himself and Dean, and this included not holding his food for him. Now that they were at the bunker with options like dishes, this was easier to accomplish. 

He was unsure whether to put the bowls on the floor for Dean to eat, as that seemed demeaning, but Dean solved that when he launched himself, wings outstretched, at the low kitchen table and was able to gain the height and land there. Cas smiled and nodded at this, oddly proud of Dean. And he realized this meant he would probably be able to reach the map table as well, so he went and retrieved what was left of the glass of whiskey, downing it in two shots with a grimace. 

“I’ll be in Sam’s room, watching TV if you need me,” Cas then told Dean as the chicken pecked heartily at the sandwich. It wasn’t often that Cas wanted to escape thinking, at least not anymore, but when he did want to, television was the best way. Dean should be good on his own from here. If he could get onto the table, Cas was sure he could get down, and since it was nearly evening, he’d probably be going to sleep soon anyway with his internal clock set to bird. Cas made sure Dean’s bedroom door was open so he could get into it without hands, and retreated to Sam’s room himself, leaving the door on a crack in case Dean did end up needing something. 

The angel hit the power button on the remote and allowed himself to lay down on top of Sam’s always made up bed covers. He didn’t need to sleep, of course, but after a trying day, he had found the benefits of letting his vessel recline and rest while he turned his mind off the best he could with some show or movie. Ah yes, this program about the five older ladies living out their retirement years together. Cas huffed a laugh at the characters’ biting but affectionate jokes towards each other and decided sweet Rose was his favorite. With the only light being the TV and no current demands on him that he could do anything about anyway, Cas began to relax as best he could.

Halfway through the second episode in the marathon, and Dorothy had just found out what Blanche had done this time, Cas’s eyes flicked at the door as the crack opened just slightly. His sharp ears picked up the tap tap tap tap, and then a moment later a red ball of feathers had fluttered up onto the bed with him. Cas didn’t move from where he was laying on his side, but his gaze followed Dean as the rooster turned his head towards the glowing screen briefly, then seemed to look back at Cas in amusement for his choice of program. He then turned around twice before settling his body, his legs tucked under him, closer to Cas’s chest than the angel might have expected. He wasn’t quite cuddled up to the angel, but he was near enough for his wing to brush Cas’s dress shirt as he fluffed his feathers in preparation of going to sleep. 

Cas could have said something, he could have moved away, but he found himself rather honored that Dean was there, next to him on Sam’s comforter. Chickens were social animals, Cas was reminded; Dean must just not want to sleep by himself in his room. So Cas turned the volume down on the TV a bit as Dean tucked his head back on his wing and promptly fell asleep. The angel fought the urge to reach out and feel those rich feathers under his fingers again. Instead he just watched Dean, for once still and peaceful, almost as much as he watched the television all night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I split what originally was all of the final chapter into two, it just needed a break in there before the conclusion. Sorry Dean, you have to be a bird for a bit longer. I'll probably post the last one before a full week goes by this time though. 
> 
> And yes, for those who don't know, chickens can and do purr when they're content and relaxed.


	4. Chapter 4

The crowing didn’t wake him up the next morning, as he wasn’t asleep, of course. Castiel merely smiled, and tried not to let Dean see his grin. A couple hours later, though, and Cas wasn’t so happy. 

“Dean! I know!” he exclaimed at the rooster, who wouldn’t stop pacing at the door. With his newfound skill of clumsy flight, Dean had been able to make it up the winding metal stairs, getting his toes caught once so that Cas had to rescue him before he broke one, and now he was at the metal door of the bunker, alternatively screaming and pecking at it. 

This was doing nothing to help Cas’s mood because yes, he would rather be out there doing something as well. This sitting here waiting was driving him nuts. He’d considered, somewhere in the middle of the night, leaving Dean locked up, relatively safe, in the bunker, while he went to go try to search for Mary, or help Sam. However, Ketch was also a Man of Letters and had already proven that as such, he had access to the bunker. Cas could simply not leave Dean here alone. 

But clearly not being able to be productive was getting to Dean as well, and, in typical Winchester fashion, he seemed all too eager to find something, anything, to attack on the other side of that door. If only it were that simple. 

After about the ninth angry squawk, Cas lost it. He slammed down the book he’d been reading on the library table, which made quite a resounding thud, as it was about eight hundred pages and hardback. The angel drew in a deep breath, the frustration and futility of the current predicament finally pushing him over the edge.

“Dean, I love you dearly, but would you stop trying to throw yourself into certain danger all the damn time? It kills me every time you do it, and yeah, I know why. You’ve got to save the world, you’ve got to stop the apocalypse. I get it, I do. But you’re a goddamn chicken right now, Dean, there is nothing you can do. So could you just make yourself relax and let me take care of you for once in your cursed life?” 

He nearly growled this last, realizing halfway through his rant that perhaps he was being a bit too loud for a bird’s ears, as Dean had stopped all movement and sound and was now hunkered on the metal grate of the platform. Even with Dean’s raised elevation, Cas was nearly glowering at him, with that force that only an angel could accomplish. 

And then Cas realized what some of those words that had come out had been. He squinted at the rooster, his eyesight good but his animal mind reading skills not as great. The angel stood up from the chair he’d been using, and spun away on his heel. 

“I’m going to make you some lunch,” he announced, his cheeks oddly warm. “And something healthy for a change.” 

Dean ate the oatmeal without complaint, even gobbling down the blueberries Cas had sprinkled in it. The rooster was admittedly subdued from how he had been before Cas’s outburst. Cas thought about trying to explain away the things he’d said, but he didn’t know how without making the air between them more awkward. Whatever, he told himself, when Dean was turned back he probably wouldn’t remember any of this, and so much the better. 

Mercifully, Cas’s phone rang with a call from Sam later that day. Cas had set Dean up in front of the television with his favorite classic cartoons in an attempt to placate the rooster, and as the angel was sticking to the library, not being in the same room was going well. He had faced literal armies once upon a time; he shouldn’t be intimidated by a chicken’s calculating gaze, but this was what his life had apparently come to. Ah well, he  _ had _ chosen it.

“It’s done,” Sam announced, and Cas breathed a deep sigh of relief, first and foremost, that the younger Winchester was safe. 

“Are you all right?” he asked his friend, receiving that familiar huff of a laugh in return.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” Sam told him. “Okay, Rowena says to meet her back at her new casino and hotel, suite 3303. Oh, and make sure you grab a few strands of Dean’s hair, from his comb or pillow or something.”

Cas went to Dean’s room first, to procure said hair. He tried to be quick about it, feeling far too intrusive about being in a space he’d been in plenty of times before. But he’d never allowed his hand to linger on Dean’s pillow, fingertips tracing the permanent dip from his friend’s head as he plucked a few strands off the cotton. Securing them in a small vial, he granted himself one more moment in the room, inhaling deeply the scent of Dean: body wash and sweet sweat, forever underlaid with just a hint of gun oil and blood. Not for the first time, Castiel imagined what it would feel like to slip under those blankets, with Dean warm and solid next to him. The angel shook his head. This was no time for impossible daydreams. 

“Dean!” he called, after retrieving the leash from where he’d left it on the map table. He rather hated to do it, but there was no way he was taking any chances now. Slipping into Sam’s room, he found Dean looking pleased with himself and a different station on the television than what Cas had left it on. He had figured out how to change the channels on the remote and he’d found Scooby Doo. Cas gave him an affectionate smile, and only let himself wish things could stay this simple for a mere millisecond. 

He then moved closer to the bed and leaned in too quickly for the chicken, who was absorbed in one of his favorite shows, to notice, clipping the leash back onto the ridiculous harness. Dean shot up onto his feet now, giving a squawk.

“Relax,” Cas tried to soothe, “This means we’re going to see the witch.” That wasn’t soothing at all. 

“It’s time to get you human again.” And before he could let himself pause in embarrassment, he scooped the rooster’s feathered body up into his arms for the last time. 

The hotel suite was simpler than he’d expected, white walls with green furnishings, though it still spoke of luxury. Not that Cas cared remotely about that; he focused on the altar already set up for the spell, and Sam, looking downtrodden but victorious and blessedly in one piece. The hunter and the angel nodded in greeting at each other while Rowena mixed ingredients. 

“How’d it go?” Sam wanted to know. “He didn’t give you too much trouble, did he?”

“Never...” Cas returned, drawing the word out in sarcasm and unconsciously rolling his eyes away in a gesture he’d learned from Dean himself. This made Sam exhale a chuckle as they turned to Rowena, Dean as far away from the group as the short leash would allow. 

He stalked along willingly enough though, when Cas stepped forward to hand off the leash to Rowena. He had to know there was no other real option if he wanted to lose the feathers and beak. 

“If something happens to him…” Cas couldn’t help the threat from spilling out, his eyes steely. 

“I know, I know,” Rowena lilted, oozing mock boredom, “You’ll flay me alive for hurting your precious one. Noted. Now can I begin?” Sometimes she really was too like her son. 

Cas pressed his lips together to reign in any further remark, and stepped back from Dean and the witch. It wasn’t like it would be the first time that they were trusting Rowena with one of their lives. But Cas always got that twisting, stabbing sensation in his gut when it was Dean’s life on the line. He went to stand next to Sam, powerless from here in the matter of Dean’s fate. Sam tried to give him a reassuring smile, the tired lines on his face halting the translation.

The younger Winchester watched Rowena work, her skilled hands mixing the herbs and oils in a brass chalice, her dark eyes glazing over as she conjured her powers. They were lucky to have her more or less on their side, even if she was an opportunist at every turn. Sam wasn’t sure what they would have done about this little feathered problem that was his big brother if they didn’t have a Grand Coven witch available to them. He was just eager to see this done so he could get to picking on Dean for how the hell he’d ended up in this predicament, and to be able to go home and get some sleep. Dean was definitely going to owe him one for this. 

Rowena started chanting, the already low lights in the room waned, and Sam’s heart went out to Dean somewhat. The rooster’s golden eyes had enlarged in uncertainty and he was standing very still in the painted circle that the witch had tethered him in the center of. Sam did hope this wouldn’t hurt Dean, and he could practically feel Cas vibrating with worry next to him. Of course he didn’t like thinking about how he would cope without his brother if he had to, but he couldn’t imagine what losing Dean would do to the angel. Sam was far from blind.

It was all Cas could do to stay rooted to Sam’s side and observe the magic beginning to swirl around Dean’s short form low to the floor. His friend, his everything, looked scared beyond belief and wasn’t it Cas’s sworn purpose to keep him safe? He frowned deeply as the royal purple glow of Rowena’s signature magic engulfed the rooster completely and she dropped the strands of hair into the chalice and uttered the final incantation. 

The next thing that could be heard was one more angry squawk, a sound neither Sam nor Cas would ever forget, which was quickly followed by a familiar, “Son of a bitch!” And before them stood one Dean Winchester, once more human shaped, on two human legs, as the violet cloud settled around him like a misty fog. One very naked and human Dean Winchester, looking around the room frantically, a pink harness with a bow tie on it torn and laying at his bare feet. 

Cas was aware of the twisting sensation again, but this time lower than his gut, even as he stepped forward without thought, shrugging out of his trench coat as he did so. He caught the way Rowena’s gaze raked up and down Dean’s form, and he was never sure if he actually gave voice to the possessive growl that was in his throat. 

He crowded into Dean’s space, throwing the coat around the sturdy shoulders spotted with freckles, the smooth flat plain of the hunter’s stomach, the curve of his pale buttocks...all that skin was almost blinding Cas. He’d seen Dean in various states of undress before, of course, but never all at once like this, completely bared and vulnerable. And so very beautiful. It was enough to stop even an angel’s heart. 

Dean was fumbling to get his arms through the sleeves, and once he had, Cas couldn’t keep from assisting him in drawing the lapels together to ensure his body was covered. Luckily Cas was fairly broad shouldered so the coat fit Dean well enough even though the hunter was a touch taller. Cas observed this fact with a quiet pleasure, and was just raising one foot to remove himself from his friend’s personal space, releasing the lapels as he did so, when Dean’s hand arrested his wrist, holding him in place while Dean finally lifted his eyes to the angel’s face. 

Those eyes; Cas truly had missed them, the shifting green hazel jade of them, but he’d never seen them like this. Boring into his own with a wild intensity, silently screaming of things the human could not yet and may never be able to put into words. Cas would have called the fire flickering in the unruly irises anger or rage if he didn’t know Dean better than that, though the iron grip his wrist was being held in would have supported that idea. 

No, this...this was wariness and a touch of fear, an honesty and vulnerability that made Cas’s stomach flip over and his mouth go dry. Any hope he’d been clinging to that Dean would forget what had happened while he’d been in bird form dove directly out the multi story window behind them and Cas rather wished he could follow it.

He looked back at Dean, for his part, in much the same way he always looked at him, though he could tell his own eyes were wider than usual, perhaps taking in this gift of being soundlessly connected to Dean in this way before the bubble that had seemed to form around them popped. He could sense Sam moving closer, and Cas was dimly aware that no real human time had passed since he’d draped his coat around Dean, although it felt much longer. 

Dean finally blinked and dropped Cas’s wrist, the moment over. But then he lunged forward and grabbed Cas in a hug that lasted a mere half second, stolen time before they were interrupted. Dean’s whisper rushed into his ear, so quiet only an angel would have been able to hear.

“Me too.” 

One more quick squeeze, and Cas almost staggered back from the broken hug as Sam swooped in, patting his brother heartily between his shoulder blades. Dean, now recovered enough to work on buttoning the coat up, was shaking his head, a half smile growing as the stricken look faded from his eyes. 

“Welcome back there, Foghorn,” Sam teased, tactfully ignoring whatever had just happened between the angel and his brother. Rowena, for her part, was wearing a heavy smirk as she began packing up the tools of her trade. 

“I’m never living this one down, am I?” Dean asked with all the confidence of a man who wasn’t wearing another man’s trench coat and hadn’t just been a chicken moments ago.

“No,” Sam replied bluntly, simply. 

“You did make quite the handsome cock,” Rowena shot with a wink, and this wiped the budding smirk from the hunter’s face. Sam laughed at Dean’s discomfort, then suggested it was high time for them to get the hell out of there. But first he bent down to grab the harness where it still lay on the floor.

“I’m keeping this for a souvenir,” he declared. “And Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do on the way home.” Sam was determined to get as much mileage out of this as he could; it wasn’t often he had this much ammo against his big brother. 

“Oh, okay, there, Desi,” Dean returned, his tone back to mocking. As they reached the door of the hotel room, the hunter gave a twist of his hips, as if something was tickling him. 

“Swear I’ve got a feather still stuck somewhere it doesn’t belong.” As Sam rolled his eyes and turned the doorknob, Cas smiled to himself. Only Dean. 

The angel had fallen into place behind the Winchesters, glad for the chance to get his wildly derailed emotions back in line. He already wasn’t sure if he had imagined the moments right after Dean had been changed back, but he was happy to appreciate the hunter wearing his coat for now, a tender possessiveness filling him at the sight. 

Dean paused suddenly in the hotel corridor, letting Sam take the lead and giving Cas no choice but to draw level with him. Cas’s eyes flicked over and up to Dean’s face, nervous in a way he wasn’t familiar with. He suddenly understood the expression of having butterflies in one’s stomach. 

What met his uncertain gaze was an affectionate smile he never imagined he’d be blessed enough to be on the receiving end of, green eyes warm if still a touch unsure themselves. That warmth spread through Cas’s heart, and he felt as if he could have exploded with love. Human emotions were still so strange, but anything for this man, for his Dean.

Cas might never get many words, that wasn’t Dean’s way, but he didn’t need them. Not when Dean was looking at him like that, like he’d finally realized Cas just might be the center of his world, as Dean had assuredly been his for so long. 

Not when Dean’s hand came to rest on the angel’s shoulder, as if needing to steady himself as they walked out to the parking lot. 

Not when Dean spent half the drive home glancing back over his shoulder at the angel in the back seat, which Sam pretended not to take notice of. 

And especially not when, much later, in the dark of his room, Dean finally, finally drew Cas close to him under the blankets, almost purring as Cas’s fingers stroked the side of his decidedly no longer feathered neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun 🐓
> 
> Oh, and a bonus deleted scene that just didn't end up fitting anywhere:   
> The three guys at the bunker or a motel room, getting up for the morning. Sam, yawning, goes, "Too bad you're a rooster and not a hen, Dean. Could have laid us some eggs." Heavily smirking.   
> Dean promptly begins ruthlessly pecking at Sam's shins, making the taller hunter wince in pain and go scurrying to make coffee.


End file.
